


12 Days of Ficmas 2016: Fairy Lights

by PoppyAlexander



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Shopping, Fluff, Greg is Sweet, M/M, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Polyamory, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/pseuds/PoppyAlexander
Summary: Sherlock stocks up; Greg thinks it's cute. (John is waiting for double cream.)





	12 Days of Ficmas 2016: Fairy Lights

It had never occurred to Sherlock that the pretty little white lights which seemed to appear suddenly from nowhere near the beginning of December to make even the dankest, grey-pavement-and-dull-brick parts of London look a bit of something special were something he could actually purchase and take control of, in his own life and home. He and Greg had stopped on their way home to Baker Street from the Met one evening, to purchase some boring thing (John had texted Greg about the urgency of the errand, it must have been something he needed in order to cook their tea), and as Greg employed his crack “detective” skills to find whatever-it-was in the aisles of the unfamiliar shop, Sherlock found himself in an alley between two racks of boxed strings of the tiny white lights. When he met Greg at the register, Sherlock had filled a metal trolley with roughly four dozen boxes of lights.

Greg raised an eyebrow. “Experiment?”

“I just wanted some of my own. Our own. For the flat. We can. . .” Sherlock started, and suddenly felt unsure of what had initially seemed a sound—exciting—idea. “. . .string them up around the mantel, the windows,” he finished, shrugging, mugging, false-casual. If Greg took the piss out of him, Sherlock would not recover. He felt ten years old again, justifying some wonderful something that was—apparently—worthy of scorn in the eyes of his peers. “It will be. . .festive.” There was sweat rolling down his back, but he shrugged again. “John might like it,” he added, a final attempt to shift the blame.

Uncharacteristic of him, Greg clamped his hand around the back of Sherlock’s head, took advantage of Sherlock’s surprise to pull his head down, and kissed him hard on the forehead.

“I’m sure he will,” Greg agreed, and began unloading the lights from the trolley (it was double cream John had wanted them to stop for; he must be making dessert; ‘twas the season for excessive sweets-consumption), and Sherlock’s shoulders softened. “I’m sure John will like it very much.”


End file.
